


this thing we have

by princessrorora



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt, comfort after a nightmare, couple traditions, garcy, my whole heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 14:56:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15317976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessrorora/pseuds/princessrorora
Summary: prompt: garcy + what couple traditions they haveplus some angst.





	this thing we have

**Author's Note:**

> oh hey ya'll!
> 
> i've been taking prompts on tumblr and since i've fallen down a timeless rabbit hole, i've been trying my hand at writing for my new favorite ship. i absolutely adore this show and the dynamic between garcia and lucy and i just...UGH i'm obsessed right now. anyway. i'm still new to writing these two, so be kind, but i've really been enjoying getting to know them and their voices and testing the waters with writing them. 
> 
> enjoy!

The bunker is quiet and dark, its inhabitants bone tired from a late return after a Rittenhouse fiasco. After the Lifeboat had touched down, no one really had had the strength to make a fuss over a dinner of cup of noodles and there was even a rare lack of debate on the alternating shifts in the shower. The fact that Lucy didn’t complain about the absence of chicken flavored noodles or Rufus the lack of hot water or Flynn the length of Wyatt’s shower said a lot for how tired the Time Team was.

No one said anything either as they all departed for their respective beds, limbs dragging across the concrete floor and doors clanking as they slid shut. No one said anything either as Lucy trailed behind Flynn or how he wordlessly held his arm out for her to step into his ( _theirs_ , really) room first. He pulled the blankets back on the bed and gave the pillows a halfhearted plump while she gathered her hair up into messy bun atop her head.

They crawled into bed together and just like every night, he didn’t hesitate to gather her into his arms. Flynn fell asleep first, his light snoring rumbling against her cheek as she rested her head against him, her hand draped over his waist. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound, the rhythmic motion of his breathing enough to lull her to sleep.

But not for long.

She dreamt of strawberry shampoo and a laugh that most days she was positive she’d never hear again. Memories that existed in no other timeline but the one only she could remember flickered into view. The happy echoes of a girl who didn’t exist to anyone else but herself shifted and morphed into images of her mother. That firm, disapproving grimace when Lucy presented her with an A- paper instead of an A+. The red ink splattered across the pages of said paper, the sugarcoated reminders to try harder, that what she _had_ done wasn’t good enough.

Even her best efforts thus far hadn’t been good enough. They had saved Rufus, sure, but only because a more competent version of herself had to show up to tell them how to do so. But Amy was still gone. Her mother had still done what she had done and was still dead. Wyatt…she didn’t even want to touch all that. And Emma was still out there with the Mothership and after the day they’d had, was still one step ahead of them.

_I’m trying_ , her mind whispered.

_But it’s not enough._

Lucy startled awake, her hands gripping a fistful of a cotton t-shirt and warm skin. The room was dark, and the bunker was silent, aside from the constant humming of the generators. Flynn was still nestled beside her, of course. But his breathing was not as steady as it was before, and there was a soothing shushing that broke the silence and a hand at the nape of her neck moving in slow circles and oh, God, was she _crying_?

“I’m sorry.” She said thickly. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Lucy.” Flynn’s voice was gravelly and low and she felt the ache in his bones from his tousle with a Rittenhouse agent earlier that day as he grunted and resituated himself beside her. He tucked his head down, and despite the darkness of the room, those green eyes of his scanned her face like a gentle caress. “Are you okay?”

“I…I…” She stuttered, her heart squeezing from his tenderness. “I’m fine. Just…a bad dream. Go back to sleep. I’m just…going to go crash on the couch. I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Lucy.” He said her name firmly. “I’m not gonna let you do that, okay?” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “You can _always_ talk to me, if you’d like. If that would help.”

She _knew_ that she could. And she knew that it _would_ help. It certainly _had_ helped in the past. This had sadly become a tradition for them, on nights when they would curl around each other like this, seeking the most innocent of warmth in each other’s arms. Sometimes it would be him, and she would run her fingers through his hair and let him whisper in Croatian and weep for the family that he lost.

But more often than not, ever since Chinatown, it had been _her_ waking up feeling weak and dejected like this.

She shook her head and he nodded, leaning down to rest his head against hers again. Flynn held her closer, and she let her hands slip up over his chest to hold him back. His fingers drew shapes at the nape of her neck and in the curve of her back, and she closed her eyes on the tears that still trailed down her cheeks, feeling so utterly _safe_.

Lucy was just _so_ tired. She knew better than to believe the dark thoughts that came with nightmares. But it felt so real. Sometimes it truly felt like she _really_ wasn’t enough. And she was tired of it. Tired of pushing herself so hard to hit dead end after dead end and not get anywhere. She was tired of running. Tired of time travel. Tired of watching people die. Tired of Rittenhouse.

And she’d told him that, plenty of times. And he understood that, more than anyone. He understood _her_ , and it wasn’t just because of the journal anymore. It was because of _this_ , whatever it was, between them. They’d never really talked about it, never really addressed what was building between them from the start. They simply gravitated toward each other, constantly circling, constantly brushing, but never coming to the conclusion.

They just _were_. And the other inhabitants of the bunker had come to accept it too. It still made Lucy smile to think of when they’d gotten Rufus back, and Agent Christopher made everyone a huge breakfast buffet to celebrate. Flynn had let his fingers brush against the small of Lucy’s back, his lips pressing against her temple as he handed her a plate for her food. Rufus had nearly gone cross eyed and Jiya had almost snorted milk out of her nose at the sight, and everyone burst into tearful laughter when Rufus exclaimed, ‘Is _that_ my fault? Did my dying make _them_ a _couple_?’

They’d hemmed and hawed over it and Lucy hadn’t been able to live down the varying shades of red that had passed over her face. But never once did she outright deny it, and Flynn must’ve noticed, because he couldn’t stop grinning at her. 

She’d kissed him for the first time after that breakfast. They'd been walking down the hall together. She’d been giggling and feeling silly after two mimosas and he still hadn’t stopped grinning and she’d just gotten up on her tiptoes and done it. 

So. There really was no denying it. At this point, they _were_ a couple, regardless of the fact that they’d never spoken about it. The kiss said it all. 

Lucy was almost positive it was always going to happen, whether or not Rufus died. From the beginning, it seemed fated, her destiny to be with him, and it terrified her every day. They had spent the better part of last year chasing Garcia Flynn through time, dodging his bullets and his dark promises only to be here, in the bunker, with him as an ally. As family.

And in her case, something more.

This ‘thing’ between them only seemed to grow as more time went on. Just as he said it would on the night they’d met, with the flames of the Hindenburg blazing behind them.

Yet from the way things were playing out in _this_ timeline, Lucy knew what was building between them was nothing like what he had expected it to be. He probably expected her to burst fearlessly burst into a Rittenhouse headquarters by his side, guns blazing, screaming at the top of her lungs as they destroyed everything. Together.

But, thankfully, Lucy could see that what he had expected and what he had gotten wasn’t a let down. Sure, he’d come into this whole thing, teaming with them, assuming Lucy would be that guns ablazing badass. And yet, she was still just Lucy. Living in her mother’s shadow. Trying with all her might to get the hang of how her life was playing out. She was supposed to be a historian, a teacher. Maybe get married and have kids and have a long, quiet life.

Everything with Noah felt like it was so long ago.

Another one bites the dust.

But Flynn…he didn’t see it that way. Even if she wasn’t what he had expected, even if he might have been a little let down that she hadn’t been as cool as her future self, he still…was there. Lucy, this Lucy, with all her _crap_ , was enough for him.

_I’d like to get to know you._

That dark dusty road in a rickety stolen car in the 1930’s came to mind, _that song_ playing through the radio that they both had history with. His anxious smile, his fervent insistence of hope, his respectful speech about _understanding_ if she didn’t want to get to know him. It all made her heart flutter to think about.

Garcia Flynn was there. For her. After the trauma of Chinatown had worn down, Lucy came to grips with what he almost said before Wyatt had walked in. And why hadn’t it been plain to her that day? Flynn was there because of her. _Her._

And so, this _thing_ between them really was inevitable. So why bother fighting it?

They began to build odd little traditions on their missions. Somehow, they always seemed to unconsciously match in the color schemes of their stolen clothes. She’d adjust his tie or the lapel of his coat and he’d twist her hair up into whatever period accurate style that was necessary. They’d slip easily into the role of a married couple, playing off each other easily, and quietly teasing each other on their token choice of pop culture names or quips they used on unassuming icons of the past. All the while preserving history, of course. They took _that_ very seriously.

They’d have each other’s backs and when violence inevitably came upon them, Flynn was always one step ahead of her, being her shield.

After missions when they’d return to the bunker after debriefings and showers (separately, much to her confused dismay), and once overs in the tiny medical supply closet, they’d sidle up at one of the tables with Rufus and Jiya and Wyatt and eat whatever dinner had been put together by whoever had dinner duty. They’d all sit around and play cards on good days, but if the mission was extra exhausting like today’s had been, Flynn and Lucy would usually have the common area to themselves, depending on their own exhaustion level.

Sometimes they would have beers and watch movies or whatever inane TV show Lucy was addicted to at the time. Oftentimes they would simply just sit in the quiet and read together, her feet in his lap and his hand tickling at her knee. Her favorite thing that they did together was when they would sip cups of coffee and brush up on their history together and scribble down what had changed in reality and what they’d known in their own timeline. But almost always, it would turn into a full on ‘geeking out’ session over the various historical facts they both knew too much about. One of her favorite things about him and this whole ‘thing’ between them was that they could match each other wit for wit.

She wasn’t too sure when the whole, sleeping in the same bed thing became an every night occurrence. She supposed it all stemmed from that first night, when she’d showed up at his door in her comfy flannel and a bottle of vodka in hand, when _nothing_ had happened. They’d stayed up all night talking, and drinking, and he’d just been there, a shoulder to lean on, someone to listen. He’d happily crammed his six foot five self in a lumpy old chair and given her his bed for the night and then made her coffee in the morning, teasing her with a smile bigger than she’d ever seen on his face.

And she’d listened too, when he needed to vent or recall a memory of the ones he loved or just talk. She listened, trying to piece together exactly who Garcia Flynn had been before his world had turned upside down and who he had become since. She found herself listening with rapt attention, longing to know every little detail about the former time traveling terrorist.

She supposed things shifted after Chinatown, when the loss of Rufus and her mother was so raw and Wyatt’s confused love proclamation had felt like ripping open a wound and dumping salt into it. While Jiya and Connor worked night and day on the Lifeboat with the knowledge her and Wyatt’s future selves had given them, (which was still a hard thing to grasp on its own), she and Flynn naturally gravitated towards each other.

He would let her curl up on his bed, his hand on her back while she wept for all that she had lost in one fell swoop. He would murmur comfortingly to her, read to her, sing to her, _anything_ that would calm her down. He was a true friend and ally, and one of those times when she’d begun to drift off, he’d stood up to leave her be. But she had grabbed his hand and he had had no other choice but to curl up beside her and be her safe harbor.

After that? Well. It became second nature to share a bed with him. Jiya spent most of her nights at the computer anyways, sleeping in fitful three hour shifts here and there. Lucy hadn’t wanted Jiya to feel like she didn’t have any privacy to mourn Rufus or anything, so letting her have the room to herself seemed like common sense. And Lucy was definitely not going to go running back to Wyatt, or to the lumpy couch in the common area.

Lucy just didn’t want to be alone, after Chinatown. Every night he’d let her into bed first, then he’d tuck his long self in beside her. That first night they’d shared the bed, he’d tried so hard not to touch her, to make sure she felt comfortable and respected. But the small space demanded they touch. She would never forget the first time his arms had slipped around her, how naturally her smaller frame fit in the crevices of his. Flynn was safe, and warm, and after spending one night wrapped in his arms, she knew she couldn’t exactly go back to sleeping alone again.

Eventually the initial shock of the sight of the two of them heading to bed together wore off. Not without Wyatt’s pointed glares and offhanded comments or Connor’s smug smile and Jiya’s wide eyes. 

Lucy shifted, and he stilled in the twining of a loose strand of her hair around his finger. Flynn drank in a deep breath and she felt him lean away again, a gentle humming sound escaping him. “How are you?”

“Tired.” She whispered, biting her lower lip. “But I can’t go back to sleep.”

“Well.” He slowly disentangled himself from her, and she instantly missed the warmth of him. Without meaning to, a low whine escape her, and given his chuckle, he was surprised to hear it. “Come on, then.”

Without waiting for an explanation, she climbed out of bed, accepting the sweater he offered her. She teased him about having night vision as he expertly rolled the long sleeves up over her wrists, and they had to stifle their giggling as they slid the door open and stepped out into the empty hallway.

Lucy was grateful for his sweater given the chill of the bunker, and how he reached behind him for her to take his hand. She did so without hesitation, the motion as easy as breathing, and they silently shuffled into the common area as they always did on nights like this.

He made the tea and grabbed the secret stash of double chocolate chip cookies from the shelf that no one else in the bunker could reach and she picked through the stash of DVD’s before making a selection.

Amy’s laughter is still fresh in her mind, so Lucy chooses Roman Holiday. Flynn hands her a mug of warm mint tea and stretches his long legs across the coffee table as he sits on the couch. He’s bone tired, but he smiles at her when she curls up next to him and wordlessly drapes her legs across his. She murmurs lines under her breath that she knows by heart, and her heart skips a beat when he joins in with a pretty good Gregory Peck impression in between mouthfuls of cookies.

He toys with her hair and she lays her head on his chest, the familiar black and white images bringing a soothing comfort to her heart and the nightmare she’d awoken from. She and Amy had had many a classic movie night, much like she and Flynn did, actually. But Amy always loved a good Audrey Hepburn movie, Roman Holiday being her favorite. Lucy would always lust over the historical sights of Rome and she and Amy would plan out their perfect Roman Holiday that they would take together one day. Lucy could remember a time in high school when Amy had cut her hair like Princess Ann’s on a whim and then immediately regretted it. She’d mourned the loss of her long hair for weeks but it only spurned multiple viewings of the film in order to boost Amy’s confidence.

_I met her once, Amy. Audrey Hepburn, can you believe it?! I told her about you. I wish I could tell you every detail. I wish I could tell you everything._

Lucy almost always cries whenever she and Flynn watch Roman Holiday, because it was so intertwined with the life she’d once lived. The life that didn’t exist anymore. Sometimes she missed it, what her life had been back when her mom had been sick and not wishing to indoctrinate her daughter to be a Rittenhouse crone and Amy and her podcast and her hopeful smile existed. Back before Garcia Flynn had barreled into her life and time travel became real and not just something in fiction.

But, she realizes as Flynn drawls another Gregory Peck line under his breath, she realizes she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Princess Ann’s voice is slurring and Lucy can hear her sister’s voice in the back of her mind, reciting the lines by heart. And that brought comfort to her. Lucy still remembered Amy. She could _still_ see her when she closed her eyes. She _still_ remembered her, when no one else did. That meant that Amy wasn’t lost to her yet. 

And it filled her with hope. And hope overrode that awful feeling of not being enough. The dead ends would cease. They would win this battle. She knew they would. Because she had hope. Holding onto Amy gave her hope. As did holding onto Flynn.

She was enough for Flynn. She was enough for this. She was enough for the team. And so much more, she knew she was strong. The dark whispers in her nightmares weren’t true. She _was_ enough.

Tears spill forth from her eyes and seep into his shirt for the second time that night. He holds her closer, and she lifts her head and smiles despite the waterworks. Her lips brush against his, and he sags against her, smiling wearily at her when she pulls away. She slides her hand across his chest and lays her head down against him. _I love you_ is on the tip of her tongue, and that should startle her more than it does. For now it is what it simply is. She breathes in the warmth of his familiar scent and closes her eyes, the sound of Audrey and Gregory and the gentle thrum of Flynn’s heart beneath her cheek and finally, finally, she can fall asleep.


End file.
